


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Luckyklutz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7146944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyklutz/pseuds/Luckyklutz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts is thrown into chaos as a mysterious plague grips the students, forcing them to reenact strange yet familiar scenes. With the very foundation of what they once knew for sure shaken, can they regain their understanding of the world and learn from their mistakes before it is too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Mourns the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> I have toyed with this idea for awhile, but going to see Wicked over the summer finally kicked my rear into gear. So here it is, Something Wicked This Way Comes. By the way, I do not own Harry Potter or Wicked. I am simply borrowing the characters and music for my own enjoyment only. But without further ado, No One Mourns the Wicked.

At the Start of Term Feast, Hermione glanced around at the students in the Great Hall. She could detect a few sympathetic glances that were being thrown her way. They thought that she was disappointed for not getting Head Girl. The funny thing was, she wasn’t. She had been offered the position, but she chose not to take it. She wanted to be an apprentice instead, and learn more about magic. She never felt the need to command large groups of people and do all the mundane work of Head Girl. It would have been nice, but she felt she could learn more as an apprentice. Instead, the badge went to the next most qualified: Pansy Parkinson. Somehow, she wouldn’t have been Hermione’s first choice for Head Girl, but she supposed Dumbledore knew best. (A/N: Yes, I know, Dumbledore is supposed to be dead. Well, too bad, so sad. I want him alive and therefore, he is alive. Same with any other supposedly dead characters that you read about in this fanfiction.)

She smiled to herself, knowing that she could relax and enjoy the year, at least more than she had previous years. Technically speaking, she, Harry, and Ron, along with the other 7th years were supposed to be graduated, but after what had happened last year, what with Voldemort almost getting control of the entire Wizarding world, everyone was offered the chance to redo the last year of school. Most people took this; even the more reluctant ones, like Ron, were persuaded by their friends (Read: Hermione) to finish their education.  
But anyway, there would be an extra load of first years this year, so as to not fall behind. Last year’s first years obviously weren’t resorted, but the group waiting in front of the hat seemed larger nonetheless.

"Can't they hurry it up? I'm starving," moaned Ron, holding his stomach as though it might burst out.

"Ron, do you mind?" Hermione replied distractedly, still looking around the Hall. She had a nagging feeling that something was about to happen, almost a curse waiting to be unleashed.  
And, unfortunately, she was right. Right after Dumbledore finished saying his few words and sat down, about 2/3 of the student body leaped to their feet, almost without their own volition. The rest of the students and the teachers all stiffened, the recent war with Voldemort still fresh in their minds. But the standing students didn’t attack. Instead, they did something even more bizarre: they sang.

“Good news!” But the students didn’t look like this sudden singing attack was good news for them. Some looked extremely pained, as if their throats were being strained by the notes being wrenched forth. Others look terrified, like they had no control over what was happening, which they indeed they did not. Some tried to run away, but the entrance to the hall seemed to be blocked by some invisible force. No one could pass. 

“She’s dead! The Witch of the West is dead!” Wait, what? But the students weren’t done. “The wickedest witch there ever was, the enemy of all of us here in Oz is dead! Good news! Good News...”

For a moment, Hermione dared to think that this was all over. But then, a student standing at the Ravenclaw table climbed rather unsteadily onto his table and shouted, “Look, it’s Glinda!”, prompting the students to cheer wildly, staring fixedly across at the Slytherin table. Hermione’s jaw nearly fell to the floor, only held up by her sense of good manners. Climbing onto the Slytherin table was one of the last people that Hermione would expect.

After the war, many Slytherins had toned down their blood prejudices, as a lot of it was instilled into them by fear, and now that many of their parents were in Azkaban, Slytherins were free, for the first time in their lives, to make their own decisions about who they liked and who they disliked. It was a long process- one does not simply forget 17 years of brainwashing and prejudice in one day- but some Slytherins were becoming almost tolerable. One of these was Pansy Parkinson. While her parents were not Death Eaters, they heavily supported him, much like the Blacks, and led Pansy down the same path. When she arrived at Hogwarts, she followed her parents’ guidance, being rather cruel to other houses, particularly the other Gryffindors in her year. But after the war, her parents were jailed for use of Dark magic. Pansy, alone in the world, started associating with others that weren’t in her house However, it wasn’t easy. People treated her with suspicion, thinking it was all an act, and that she hadn’t really changed.

Hermione was wary of the Slytherin girl, and so felt surprised that this same girl that had bullied and ridiculed her was now climbing onto the table. What was more, she felt sorry for her, almost not of her own volition. She frowned. Where had the feeling come from? She quickly put the thought aside as Pansy opened her mouth and began to speak.

“It’s good to see me, isn’t it?” That sounded like something Pansy might say; a little odd, but normal. For a bizarre second, Hermione thought that Pansy was doing this of her own free will, but that idea was dashed when Pansy started singing.

“Fellow Ozians... Let us be glad, let us be grateful, let us rejoicify that goodness could subdue the wicked workings of You-Know-Who.” Was she talking about Voldemort? Looking around the hall, Hermione could see other people pondering this same question. Then again, why would she be singing about it? Pansy was not one to suddenly burst into song. Definitely not.  
“Isn’t it nice to know that good will conquer evil?” Pansy looked revolted at the goody-goody phrases spewing out of her mouth uncontrollably. Also, she could feel the need for high notes building in her throat. She tried to draw upon the vocal training her parents had forced upon her as a child and took a deep breath.

“The truth we all believe’ll by and by outlive a lie for you and...” As she was cut by one of the other singers, scattered applause broke out across the hall for Pansy. Besides the mere fact that she hit the high notes, she had an amazing voice. Pansy wasn’t listening, though. She dropped to the floor, temporarily relieved of the curse, and chugged her pumpkin juice while she could. This turned out to be a good idea, as she was only released for a few seconds, as a student- Pansy couldn’t see who- yelled “Glinda, exactly how dead is she?”

“Well, there has been much rumor and speculation... innuendo, outuendo... but let me set the record straight. According to the Time Dragon Clock, the melting occurred at the 13th hour; a direct result of a bucket of water thrown by a female child. Yes, the Wicked Witch of the West is dead!”

Right as she finished, Colin Creevey stood up on the table and sang, “No one mourns the Wicked!”

A terrified-looking Hufflepuff first year sang “No cries ‘They won’t return!’”

All of the affected students except Pansy sang, “No one lays a lily on their grave!”

A burly Slytherin sixth year piped up, “The good man scorns the Wicked!”

All the girls who were under the curse sang “Through their lives our children learn!”

Together, the voices rang out: “What we miss when we misbehave...”

It was Pansy’s turn again. “And goodness knows, the Wicked’s lives are lonely. Goodness knows, the Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you’re wicked, you’re left only on your own...”  
In a kind of echo, the crowd took up Pansy’s words, while Pansy reflected that it really did feel like a musical of sorts, what with the chorus and storyline and all. “Yes, goodness knows the Wicked’s lives are lonely, goodness knows the Wicked die alone. Nothing grows for the Wicked, they reap only what they sow.”

The Weasley girl was the next to speak. Standing up on the table, she said, “Glinda, why does wickedness happen?” As soon as the words were out, she turned bright red, and buried her face in Potter’s robes, who put his arms around her comfortingly.

Apparently, Pansy’s pondering time was over. She spoke imploringly, though she didn’t understand why. Why was she feeling sorry for this Wicked Witch that she was so apparently against? “That’s a good question; one that many people find confusifying. Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon him? After all, she had a childhood. She had a father, who just happened to be the governor of Munchkinland.”

Then Hermione’s jaw, if not already on the ground, could have dropped into the dungeons. For the next person to speak was not someone already under the curse. In fact, it was a teacher, a group that had not yet been affected. And of all the teachers it could have been, it was Snape.

He stood up, very rigidly and said, “I’m off to the Assembly, dear.” Hermione wasn’t sure whether to laugh or what. This whole experience was way too much. Some students laughed half-heartedly, too in shock to enjoy the moment. 

But Pansy continued doggedly, though she was as astonished as the rest. The words were ripped from her mouth against her will; she was powerless to stop it. “And she had a mother, as so many do.”

Then, as if playing the part of the father was not enough, of course Snape was forced to sing. “How I hate to go and leave you lonely.” 

Then, from the other side of professor Dumbledore, Professor Sprout spoke up, joining the ranks of the afflicted. “That’s alright, it’s only just one night.”

Hermione dimly registered that Professor Sprout had a surprisingly nice voice- a little thin, but nice- but she was too overwhelmed to concentrate on this fact at the moment.

Snape sang once more, scowling deeply (how one could scowl and sing simultaneously, Hermione had no idea): “But know that you’re here in my heart while I’m out of your sight...”

Pansy could barely speak for trying not laugh, but she managed to choke out, “And like every family, they had their secrets.”

Professor Dumbledore spoke next, sending the students a little further towards the panic end of the emotional spectrum. If this curse could overcome even the greatest wizard of the time, what else could it force the ones afflicted to do? Dumbledore looked horror-stricken as he sang, “Have another drink, my dark-eyed beauty, I’ve got one more night left here in town. So have another drink of green elixir, and we’ll have ourselves a little mixer. Have another little swallow, little lady, and follow me down...”

Pansy continued, now a little bit scared, and for some odd reason, sad. And the odd thing was, the sadness almost seemed to be not her own, as if some other force was inhabiting her body, which was a rather disconcerting feeling. “And of course, from the moment she was born, she was, well, different.”

Suddenly, Professor Trelawney shrieked, “It’s coming!” It was impossible to discern if she was spellbound or if she was being herself. That did sound like something that she would say if she was her normal self.

Snape snapped back, “Now?” but again, it was hard to discern if he was under the curse or acting of his own volition. Normally, Snape suffered the Divination Professor’s rambling in silence, so the curse was probably to blame.

Again, she shrieked, “The baby’s coming!” Yeah, it was definitely the curse.

“And how?”

“I see a nose,”

“I see a curl,”

Together, the odd twosome sang, “It’s a healthy, perfect, lovely little...”

They cut off suddenly, and Professor Trelawney let out a piercing scream much like the one she had made when she saw the Grim in Harry’s cup.

“Sweet Oz!” The sudden transition from singing to speaking was too much for Snape’s vocal cords, causing his voice to crack slightly. Some snickered, but others were still too confused and terrified to make a sound. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Sprout, though no one was sure whether it was the curse or just concern for her fellow faculty member. It was probably the former, as Professor Trelawney was rather prone to dramatics, and so the rest of the staff had learned to let well enough alone.

“How can it be?” Trelawney exclaimed.

“What does it mean?” scowled Snape.

“It’s atrocious!” screeched Trelawney hysterically. 

“It’s obscene!” Snape said in perhaps the loudest voice the students had ever heard him use.

“Like a froggy, ferny cabbage, the baby is unnaturally GREEN!” 

After the exclamation, Trelawney fell silent, looking horrified and terrified, a toxic brew that was shared by most of the student body. Snape, however, was not quite done. Hermione felt a sudden sympathy for the baby as he continued, “Take it away... Take it away!” She frowned at the rising emotion for a non-existent child, but quickly dismissed it as empathy of how she felt disconnected from her own parents as the song continued (seriously, how long is this song?)

“So you see, it couldn’t have been easy...” But Pansy was fighting a losing battle, both against the chorus who seemed determined to ignore any attempts to explain this so-called wicked witch’s motivations. 

“No one mourns the Wicked! Now at last, she’s dead and gone! Now at last, there’s joy throughout the land. And Goodness knows we know what goodness is.” Now the roles were reversed. Instead of the masses echoing her, Pansy echoed their words in extremely high tones. She silently cursed whoever made the music. Were they determined to tear out her vocal cords? “Goodness knows the Wicked die alone.” 

Still in those maddeningly high tones, Pansy sang, “She died alone.” Obviously, Pansy thought. That was rather the point of the song. 

Back at the Gryffindor table, something stirred in Hermione’s mind, but she pushed it away for the moment. She wanted to hear the rest of the song, just in case there was something that would help figure out what on Earth was going on.

“Woe to those (Woe to those) who spurn what goodnesses they are shown.... No one mourns the Wicked!”

All around the hall, voices were fading, some students rasping as their throats were forced to emit notes they could not reach, others’ voices dying with the strain of so much singing. But still they were forced on.

Pansy also was not yet free. “Good news!” She felt a pang of pain, but it did not come from the throat that so desperately was trying to keep going, but from her heart. The only other time she felt like that- she quickly shook the thought away as the crowd continued to sing.

“No one mourns the Wicked!” Yes, we heard already. You don’t need to repeat it a hundred times

Pansy threw up her hands helplessly “Good news!” Apparently she was not immune to repeating things endlessly.

“No one mourns the Wicked!” Finally, Pansy was able to sing with the rest. “Wicked!”

There was a moment of silence. A student tried the doors. Still nothing. Then, “Wicked!!” The students all collapsed like marionettes whose strings had been cut. A couple of students who were pushing against the wards on the doors nearly fell through as the curse suddenly lifted. No sound could be heard throughout the hall except ragged pants and quickly murmured spells as those not under the curse cast any spells that they knew on their friends to help them: small healing spells, usually used during potions when one nicked themselves with their knife; spells to dull pain; Aguamenti for those who needed water, as many did. Professor McGonagall, seeing that Dumbledore was in no way in any shape to command the students, rose to her feet and said calmly, “All those afflicted, please head to the Hospital Wing. Everyone else, go to your dormitories immediately. Miss Granger, if you would assist Madam Pomfrey. No, Weasley, you may not go to the hospital wing, you are fine. For goodness sake, if you were not singing, go to your dormitories. They have quite enough to deal with just with those cursed, they don’t need any more trouble.

Truer words have never been spoken, thought Hermione. The hospital wing was overflowing. In every available space, makeshift beds that were hastily transfigured were stuffed haphazardly. Even then, people had to budge over and share with their friends. Madam Pomfrey didn’t have enough pain-relieving potion to sooth all the sore and torn throats, so Hermione had several cauldrons bubbling away in Pomfrey's office. She alternated between stirring the brews and dashing around the extremely over-crowded wing, giving out doses as soon as she was finished. 

Seeing the Deputy Headmistress arrive, Madam Pomfrey made her way over. “Minerva, what happened? I only got so much information from Pomona before she went into shock. When Albus stopped in here, I just got that I would be having tons of new patients before he staggered off to his study. He looked like he’d been in a war zone. I was surprised that he didn’t collapse on the spot. Oh, where is Severus when you need him...”

“The Potions Master is... indisposed at the time.” Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned, as Madam Pomfrey’s eyes widened. 

“He... Oh Merlin...” McGonagall nodded, trying hard to keep her professional demeanor in front of her students, most of which were silent. She was a little scared that some of them would never speak again, let alone sing, which was a shame, because many of them had beautiful voices. 

“So Albus isn’t here?”

“No, I think he was embarrassed to be seen by the students. But if only we knew what happened...”

McGonagall nodded once, curtly, then turned and left the wing. She knew exactly where Dumbledore was. 

As expected, she found him in his sleeping quarters, something only a very few knew of. It was attached to his office, so that he could be there for his students and fellow staff at any time. She entered after giving the password (Collywobbles) to find Dumbledore huddled in a pile of blankets. Only his eyes were recognizable, two blue eyes staring blindly around the room, not really seeing it. McGonagall advanced toward the man upon the bed, only to have him cringe back a bit. Ignoring this, McGonagall sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. She hoped that he would get over this... whatever it was, because until he did, she was Headmistress, and honestly, she had no idea what to do about this crisis. She spoke, much like one might try to soothe a frightened child. “Albus, what happened?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Dumbledore spoke, but not in his normal calm, but commanding voice that he normally employed, but in a broken voice that seemed to speak of a man utterly defeated. “I... don’t know. A feeling came over me, something I can’t describe. I’ve never felt that way before. I feel so... dirty.”

McGonagall only nodded, sensing that he had more to say. “The feeling... like I didn’t care about anything, except her. Not that she was married, not anything, but...”

She sighed “I know, Albus.”

The cocoon of blankets trembled a little as he shook his head. “No, you can’t. It was so… disgusting. I feel so… unclean.”

He shuddered and fell silent. McGonagall waited for a while, but apparently Dumbledore was not able or willing to say more. Slowly, she got up and left the room, deep in thought. What was this curse, that it could reduce a great man like Dumbledore to a feeble old man? 

Across Hogwarts, the question ran, as gossip does, from person to person, mouth to ear. What is this? Why? How? But no matter how much they were asked, no one had an answer. All that was left was to wait and ponder, because what else could they do?


	2. Dear Old Shiz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a reminder, this idea was inspired by Wings of Fancy’s Magical Maladies, and all characters and songs come from Harry Potter and Wicked, respectively. They are not mine; I am simply borrowing them for my own enjoyment. Now, without further ado, Dear Old Shiz.

Hermione sighed, bottling yet another dose of pain-relieving potion. For the last few days, Hermione had seen very little of the castle except the nurse’s office, even setting up a cot for herself in the room so she could keep watch over the four or five cauldrons perpetually bubbling with potion. With the herds of students lying in the hospital wing, it was all she could do to keep up with the demand.

  
Besides brewing potions, she had to deal with the hordes of people trying to sneak into the hospital wing to see friends. While she appreciated their drive to help their friends, the droves of people trying to force their way into the already severely overcrowded wing was definitely not helping. Madam Pomfrey was just as busy, trying to help all the students she could and simultaneously trying to find out about the curse and if there was a cure. After the fifth group of kids was evicted by the nurse, Hermione suggested that she go and get some rest. That was around two in the afternoon, and Hermione had gone outside with the herds of waiting students. While conjuring benches for the (very loud) groups, all asking after one friend or another, she explained, “If you wait long enough, and can manage to be quiet, Madam Pomfrey might let you in at some point, but there are far too many people in the hospital wing as it is without you lot in there, too.” Finishing her conjuring, she returned to the hospital wing, shutting the door firmly behind her to quell the storm of protests. Luckily, that had somewhat stopped the trespassing. But still, Hermione had a lot on her plate.

  
To top it all off, it was the middle of the night. Most of the students waiting outside had trooped off to their dormitories with the idea of coming back later, but a few more loyal friends were sleeping outside on the benches that Hermione had provided (luckily, they had cushions). The hospital was basically silent. Over the last few days, most of the students had regained their speaking ability, though a few still croaked out their sentences, their throats not quite yet recovered from their sudden singing experience. Everyone hoped that it had just been a one-time thing, but Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to come. She couldn’t figure out the purpose for this curse, and she thought that whomever was casting the curse would want to make the purpose entirely clear. Whoever cast this spell had to have some motive. Maybe it was just to humiliate the students of Hogwarts, but somehow, she didn’t think so.

  
Hermione stood up slowly, stretching her sore legs. She checked her clipboard and mentally groaned. Everyone had gotten their dose of potion for the evening except for one person, the same one person she was dreading dealing with: Pansy Parkinson. Luckily for everyone involved, Pansy tended to not sleep very well, and often stayed awake a good part of the night. This fact caused Hermione to leave Pansy to the last. That, and she vaguely dreaded the encounter, as it wasn’t exactly pleasant. But there was nothing for it. As she checked the cauldrons in preparation to leave the stuffy side room, she heard a commotion in the hospital wing. Hermione rushed out to see the patients stirring.

  
Seamus Finnegan sat bolt upright from where he had been sleeping and asked “Glinda, is it true you were her friend?”

  
“Well, I... you see... um... yes.” Pansy was trying to hide among her blankets and pillows. Her face was bright red, and she felt ashamed, as if confessing to a heinous crime. “Well, it depends on what you mean by friend,” she continued, as if trying to justify her actions. “I did know her. That is, our paths did cross… at school. But you must understand, it was a long time ago and we were both very young.” Then Pansy, still red-faced, was able to fall blessedly silent. The rest of those affected, however, were not as lucky.

  
“Oh hallowed halls and vine-draped walls, the proudliest sight there is.” Again, Hermione wondered what they were speaking of. Maybe it was Hogwarts? But then again, it seemed almost as though they were speaking of an ethereal place that none of them had ever known. It seemed so familiar, though…. Hermione had no time to dwell on this, as the students continued to sing. Dimly, Hermione sympathized with them. She knew that most of them already had torn and sore throats. Madam Pomfrey was already rushing around, preforming what healing spells she could to ease their pain.

  
“When grey and sere our hair hath turned, we shall still revere the lessons learned in our days at dear old Shiz, our days at dear old…”

  
Suddenly, Pansy joined the throngs of half-conscious students, many of whom had been asleep, but were waking up as their vocal chords once again stretched in ways they never had before.

  
“Old…” Again, Pansy sighed in exasperation mentally. She couldn’t sigh physically due to the freakishly high runs issuing from her throat. Really? Is this necessary? Pansy thought, annoyed. Looking around, she noticed that everyone else seemed to be staring at the door to the nurse’s office. Wondering what they could possibly be looking at, she glanced over. Hermione stood there with her clipboard. Pansy narrowed her eyes. What was so special about her? Why did she get all the attention? Still, she trailed off, staring at Hermione. “Shizzz…”

  
Hermione was disconcerted, to say the least. Every single person in the hospital wing was staring at her. Did she have something in her teeth? “What?” she asked, filled with an inexplicable anger. “What are you all looking at?”

  
Somehow, these words seemed to break the spell. Everyone fell back on their pillows, gasping and choking. Hermione, remembering the bottle in her hand, made her way over to Pansy, who was still hiding in her pillow.

  
She waited until the Head Girl looked up, and handed her the potion, saying, “Here’s your potion for the night. It should tide you over until morning.”

  
Pansy looked up at the apprentice and sniffed. “I’ll be fine.” She examined the contents of the bottle suspiciously, as though she were dubious of the liquid and its supposed healing properties. Sadly, Hermione had grown used to this treatment over the last few days. For a few students, it was because she was a Mudblood, but mostly, it was simply because she was a student. Pansy tried to hand it back, but Hermione remained resolute, and Pansy quickly withdrew her hand to make sure she didn’t make contact with the mudblood. The Head Girl looked down at her lap, unwilling to look at the girl who might have had her place.  
Hermione sighed. “Well, if you take it, be sure to let either me or Madam Pomfrey know so we don’t overdose you.”

  
Surprised that she didn’t give more of a fight, Pansy looked up to see the apprentice’s back as she turned toward the rest of the wing (Pansy was in a corner, a little apart from the rest of the wing, because she had had such a big role, and was Head Girl). The Slytherin girl stared after her for a moment, and then looked at the little bottle clenched in her fist.

  
A while later, Hermione passed by Pansy’s bed, and noted that she was in the same position as before. She was about to look away, but then noticed that the little flask that had been clutched in Pansy’s hand was now placed on the windowsill. Upon further examination, the flask was empty. Hermione smiled and put a discreet check on the clipboard next to Pansy’s name.

  
After doing what she could to help the students, most of whom were once again asleep, Hermione retreated to the nurse’s office. When she shut the door to the sleeping wing and turned around, she came face-to-face with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. They were deep in discussion, but they waved for Hermione to join them.

  
“Have you found anything, Minerva?” Madam Pomfrey asked. Since three professors were incapacitated, along with the headmaster, classes had been cancelled. Normally, this would have given Professor McGonagall plenty of time to research, but as she was now acting headmistress, she had other duties, which kept her busy to the point that she had very limited time to research the curse.

  
“Not much. Did you find anything?” Madam Pomfrey shook her head, looking at a list of the students in the wing.

  
“No specific years, no specific Houses, no specific blood-type. It really does seem to be quite random.”

  
Hermione cleared her throat, making her presence known. “But, somehow, it doesn’t seem so random. Like Pansy? She doesn’t seem at all like this ‘Glinda’ that she’s singing about.”

  
McGonagall and Pomfrey exchanged looks. Maybe the apprentice was getting too tired from the constant work?

  
Hermione, seeing the look that passed between the two witches, hastened to explain. “Maybe whomever’s casting this curse has some other motive. If he or she picked people who fit the character perfectly, what would they accomplish?”

  
The two women were speechless at the girl’s words. Once again, she had spoken with wisdom beyond her years, making them wonder why the apprentice was not Head Girl.

  
McGonagall cleared her throat, and replied, “Well, if that’s true, then we won’t be able to truly guess what the person’s motive could be, and therefore cannot find the culprit. There could be dozens of reasons.”

  
Hermione, however, did not seem alarmed by this. “I have the feeling that whoever is casting the curse will want to make their point abundantly clear. What is the purpose of doing this if no one understands why? It wouldn’t accomplish anything.”

  
There really wasn’t much more to say on that front, so the three moved on to what they could do to help the students.

  
“I asked Professor Dumbledore if he knew of any curse like this. He didn’t seem to, but I get the feeling that he knew something, but wouldn’t- or couldn’t- say.” Professor McGonagall spoke in her usual crisp manner, but the other two could detect a slight difference in the normally in control deputy headmistress. It was the most vulnerability they had seen from the professor, revealing just how rattled she really was.

  
Madam Pomfrey spoke up next. “In the interim, we’ll keep brewing pain-relief potion, and Professor Flitwick is going to be coaching those affected to help get their vocal cords in shape so that they hopefully won’t get any more injured. I also think that we should keep them isolated for the time being, just in case. You never know how deep curses like this go. Is it just limited to singing the lines, or will they experience the thoughts and do the actions of those concerned?”

  
Everyone was silent as they contemplated the possible repercussions of that. They really knew nothing about the story they were reenacting. What if a student was forced to do unspeakable things? They didn’t even want to imagine the horrors this story could bring for them. What if someone died?

  
Looking at each other, the three women knew that the others were thinking the same horrible thought. They all silently swore to themselves that they would do anything to stop that from happening.

  
Outside, Pansy was not thinking such dreary thoughts. She was listening furiously. She was the Head Girl, and yet the Muggleborn, much less connected and, to her mind, accomplished than she, was sitting in that office where she should be, discussing important matters that she should be discussing. Why did that little know-it-all get all the attention?

  
Seventh year was supposed to be her time to shine, and yet, she was outshone and outdone time and time again. Pansy had looked forward to everyone respecting her, but everyone obviously respected Hermione much more. She had seen how Hermione had quieted the clamoring crowd with a few words. Pansy thought to herself that if she had tried that, she would have been lucky to stop the first years from chattering.  
She strained her ears to hear anything happening in the office, but she could hear nothing of the plans the three were making. She felt a surge of jealousy against the girl, who had no visible advantages, but somehow had managed to achieve what she deserved. She was used to always getting her way. Her parents had gotten her all the advantages they could with their money and influence. She had always been pretty, and had had plenty of friends- well, cronies- to hang out with. She wasn’t used to not getting her way, and getting Head Girl was just another example of that. She thought that she deserved it. But somehow, it was turning out to be a sham because that muggleborn was getting all the attention.

  
Pansy sighed deeply, and sank back into her pillows. _For once, I didn’t get my way. I think I need to lie down._


	3. The Wizard and I

A few days later, Hermione was taking one of her rare breaks. Though the students had not yet been forced to sing again after the last disastrous episode, the apprentice was still plenty busy. Between her normal classwork, work in the hospital wing, and time spent researching whatever was going on, Hermione had barely seen Harry and Ron outside classes for weeks. Much like when the basilisk was loose in their 2nd year, panic and fear were running rampant in the castle. Everyone was on edge, not knowing when the next bout would come or who would be targeted. If this was a joke, it was a cruel one. If it was an attack of some kind, it was even worse.

The curse was the only thing on people’s minds, and so that was what the Golden Trio was discussing as they lounged around the fire in the common room.

“Do you have any leads?” asked Harry, lazily dipping his quill into his ink and scribbling another line about the effect of bat spleens in various potions.

“Not really. We haven’t found a thing on any of the people they were singing about. There are no written accounts of this happening before, but I get the feeling from Dumbledore that he knows about something like this before, but he still won’t tell us.”

“It all sounds like something from a fairy tale. I’ve gotten used to some weird stuff, but Snape singing? Ugh.” Harry shuddered, then started rolling up his parchment, unable to focus on bat spleens while there was a picture of Snape singing plastered across his brain.

Ron snickered. “I heard that they’re checking the windows in the towers for cracks.”

Hermione flung a pillow at him. He caught it, stuck out his tongue in a truly mature fashion, and tossed it back.

Right as she caught it, as if on cue, Ron’s stomach gurgled. He dug a chocolate frog out of his bag, and unwrapped it ferociously. The frog leapt out, but he caught it and stuffed it into his mouth with such vigor that Hermione felt sorry for it.

“Do you always have chocolate with you?” Hermione stared at the wrapper, bemused, as Ron devoured the frog.

“Off Corf!” exclaimed Ron, still with a mouth full of chocolate, threatening to spew. Hermione gave him the look that she had developed over the years to mean, “Swallow, then repeat.”

“Of course,” repeated the Gryffindor boy, once he had gulped down the treat. “It’s like my mum always says, ‘A chocolate a day keeps the Wicked at bay.’ He took in the incredulous looks on his companion’s faces, and said “You must’ve heard that before! What about ‘A clean cauldron keeps potions from becoming poisons?’”

Hermione sighed wearily. “Ron, you know we were both raised with muggles, right?”

“Oh, right.” Ron deflated, staring at the card clenched in his hand. “Slytherin.”

“Gosh, it’s not that bad.”

“No. Slytherin. That’s the card I got. I already have about five, but it might come in handy later. But anyway, you guys have never heard those? My mum says them all the time.”

“How does that even make sense?”

“I dunno. I guess something like chocolate is so good and pure, if you eat enough of it keeps the Wicked away.

“I guess it’s like ‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away’,” interjected Harry, looking at Hermione.

Ron started to laugh. “How does THAT even work?”

“Well, I guess apples are good for you, so eating them keeps you healthy, and you don’t have to go to the doctor.”

“And you think my sayings are weird.” Ron shook his head incredulously.

“Anyway,” Hermione intervened, “Are you saying that Voldemort came after Harry because he didn’t eat enough chocolate?”

Ron turned a little bit whiter at the mention of the name, but otherwise didn’t react. Old habits died hard, Hermione supposed. “No, Voldemort was bad news for sure, but he wasn’t Wicked. Only a few of those have ever existed, and they were all witches. There hasn’t been a wicked witch for millennia.

Harry looked at Hermione. “Ron is saying smart things. Should we be worried?”

Ron looked indignant. “I know things! My mum used to tell me about a wicked witch when I was little. She was green and flew on brooms before the Nimbuses and Cleansweeps existed. She was way bad news.

Hermione caught her breath. Ron couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying, could he? “Ron, where did the witch live?”

Ron looked confused, but then comprehension dawned on his face. “Wh- OH! But it couldn’t… could it?

Now it was Harry’s turn to look befuddled. “I think I missed something. What’s going on?”

“Think about it, Harry. The ‘wickedest witch there ever was’ who was unnaturally green? Hopefully there’s only one out there,” replied Hermione, slightly exasperated, but the exasperation was tempered by another emotion that Hermione couldn’t quite place, like sadness, but deeper, more… something. Hermione had no time to focus on it because Ron started talking again.

“But... why would they be forced to sing about the Wicked Witch. She’s Wicked!”

“We don’t know for sure that it’s her. Do you remember anything else about the story?”

Ron grabbed another frog and ate with just as much haste as the first. “Well, she lived a long time ago, and she was green. There was the first good wizard, the Wizard, and a good witch.”

“Ron,” said Harry, who was now on the same page, “What was the witches’ name?”

“Ooh,” moaned Ron. “I don’t remember. It started with a G… or maybe a J…” He started to reach for another frog, but stopped half-way, staring at the wrapper he had just discarded. The card was a little bit askew, so just the title could be seen, but it was clear as day: Glinda the Good.

Before Hermine could reach for the card, Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway to the common room. Immediately, the room went still and silent. It was only on a very rare occasion when the Head of Gryffindor House entered the common room. The last time was during the Chamber of Secrets scare.

“Miss Granger, if you could come with me, please,” she said, her voice and face giving nothing away.

Hermione turned to the two boys still staring at the card. “Ron, see if you can remember anything else about the story. I’ll see you guys later.” The duo nodded, still mute, as she turned and hurried toward the Deputy Headmistress, wondering what horrible catastrophe could have struck this time.

* * *

 

Wordlessly, Hermione followed Professor McGonagall down the hallway. She was confused. She figured that Professor McGonagall would be hurrying more if something absolutely critical had happened. But still, with the mysterious circumstances running rampant at Hogwarts, it was best not assume anything.

Finally, Professor McGonagall stopped outside her office. She opened the door and ushered Hermione inside, where Hermione was somewhat surprised to see Pansy sitting opposite where Professor McGonagall normally sat. She had nearly forgotten about the Slytherin Head Girl in the recent weeks, partially due to her busy schedule, and partially due to the fact that for once, she was not harassing the Gryffindors. Pansy looked rather pale, making Hermione wonder what was going on as she slipped into the seat beside the subject of her musings. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing both girls’ gazes to her. At some point since they had entered the room, the Head of Gryffindor had sat down in her normal spot in the office.

“All you are both well aware, Hogwarts is rather perturbed. In light of the recent…” Professor McGonagall struggled for a minute with what she could call whatever was happening, “Disturbances, the faculty has made the decision to remove those with the curse to one of the unoccupied towers until the issue is resolved, at which point the students will be allowed to go back to their usual dorms. They will be allowed to attend normal classes, as there will always be a teacher present to assist the students if the need arises. However, we will need someone on faculty on hand in the tower, to administer assistance if the curse takes hold in the interim until Madam Pomfrey can come and help.

“Miss Parkinson, you will naturally get your own room to focus on your Head Girl duties. Until we know the extent of the curse, it would most likely be unwise to put those with any type of rivalry together, so I have put the different Houses in different dorms. All the girls in each House can stay together, and the same for the boys. You’ll be supervising those living in the tower, making sure they stay caught up with studies, and making sure that no one is misbehaving.

Pansy smiled to herself. Finally, she’s getting some credit. She could almost see Dumbledore telling her that she was the best student in the school, and that he would nominate her for Minister of Magic as soon as she left school. So far, McGonagall had basically ignored Hermione. This was the way it should be. Now she was getting what she deserved.

“Professor, did you send out the list for your Animagi class yet?” asked Pansy, determined to press her advantage. “I applied especially for your seminar. Perhaps you remember my entrance essay: _Animagi: Must we be Muggle?_ “

“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall primly, “But there… was not enough interest in the seminar this semester. I normally only offer this class if there are enough people of extraordinary magical talent…”

Pansy fell silent, noting that her advantage was gone. She was kind of hurt. She had spent a lot of effort on that essay. She spent hours looking up facts on the animagi transformation in her family’s extensive library. She had researched the effects of different steps and concluded that the animagi must be a common muggle animal. They could not be a giant, or a unicorn, something which Pansy was quite disappointed by. She had always rather fancied the idea of being able to turn into a unicorn at will, as it was one of the animals that she could actually tolerate.

As she continued to stew in her thoughts, Hermione and Professor McGonagall kept talking, discussing Hermione’s sleeping arrangements.

“Madam Pomfrey would like you to stay in the dorms also, to help administer care and alert her if the curse strikes again. She would do it herself, of course, but she still has the hospital wing to attend to. Is that alright with you, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, of course,” answered Hermione, though she would have preferred staying in her cozy dorm up in Gryffindor tower. She supposed that this was one of the sacrifices that one had to make as an apprentice.

“The only question is where to put you. The dorms are basically full. I doubt we could fit you in anywhere. The only place that has any room is Pansy’s and that kind of defeats the purpose of her having her own room.“

Pansy was not listening to them, however. She was busy thinking. McGonagall had said that she only offered the class to those of extraordinary magical talent. _Well, exactly!_ Pansy thought. _I am a person of extraordinary talent; I am Head Girl after all._ She grew frustrated. _It's so unfair!_

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall and Hermione were still discussing rooming arrangements. “However, as there are no other available rooms, and as Madam Pomfrey was quite adamant about you being available to assist the students, should another episode occur, we might as well ask. Miss Parkinson?”

Strengthening her resolve, Pansy looked up at the sound of her name and exclaimed, “Professor, I can-“

“Why thank you, dear. That’s very admirable of you.” Professor McGonagall turned toward Hermione who was looking rather surprised for reasons Pansy did not understand.

“What?” asked Pansy, feeling that she missed something, but Professor McGonagall wasn’t done. “See, Miss Granger, this will work out fine. You can room with Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy gaped, “Wait, but Professor, are you going to reread my essay?”

Professor McGonagall frowned at the girl in front of her, who was watching her with an expectant expression. The professor thought that it was rather rich of the girl to bargain after she had already agreed to room with Miss Granger, but she supposed she could grant the girl this, even though she figured that she wouldn’t find any more redeeming qualities in the essay than she had the first time.

“Very well, Miss Parkinson. Now if you could please wound up the students to start the move to the tower…”

Pansy, understanding her dismissal, stood up and left the room, but as she left, she heard Professor McGonagall continue speaking. Against her better judgment, she lingered by the door, listening to whatever they were talking about.

“Is there something else, Miss Granger?”

“Yes…” Pansy could hear her smoothing her skirt, and could imagine her nervously looking down.

“Are the women… the ones we’re searching for, do they happen to be mentioned in fairy tales?” Pansy scoffed. Of course. Every respectable witch knew that.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, Miss Granger. I should have-“

“No, it’s alright,” replied Hermione quickly, forestalling the inevitable apology. “Ron mentioned something, so I wondered.”

“Ah, yes, the Weasleys would tell that story. It’s an old, old tale. It even became a muggle tale at some point. It was actually based on a supposedly real tale in the wizarding world, but was leaked in 1900 by L. Frank Baum. He was almost incarcerated for violating the Statute of Secrecy. But he didn’t tell the whole story, so he was cleared of all charges.”

Hermione sat quietly, knowing that interrupting McGonagall would not get her the information she wanted any sooner. When Professor McGonagall was in “Teaching Mode”, it was best just to let her talk. Hermione actually sometimes thought that McGonagall would be good at History of Magic.

Professor McGonagall finished her impromptu history lesson, giving Hermione a chance to ask the question burning in her mind. “But, Professor, what was the tale? Ron only said that there was a wicked witch, and a good witch and a wizard. Who are they?”

Pansy’s face distorted in glee. Perfect Hermione Granger didn’t even know the story. That was too good!

“Well, it has been many years since I heard the story. I was a little girl when my parents told me, and even then I thought my parents were tremendously old-fashioned for such a story. As I remember it, the Wizard ruled a land called Oz with the good witch Glinda at his side; under his rule, the land flourished in architecture and economy. They built many landmarks like a golden road and a city made of emeralds. It was a time of peace and tranquility.”

“But what went wrong? Where does the Witch come in?”

The older woman’s brow furrowed as she struggled to recall. “There was a pair of magical slippers that the Witch wanted. They had reportedly belonged to her sister, and were given away after her death to someone in Oz. She terrorized them to get these slippers.”

“Slippers?” repeated Hermione, stupefied. “All of these purportedly horrible things that the Witch had done were for a pair of shoes?”

“Yes, although I could not tell you what they were. No one really knows. But it must have been bad to have given her the title of Wicked Witch.”

Hermione frowned, deep in thought. “What were some of the characters like? If we know their characteristics, then we might be able to identify the students playing their roles and stop any permanent damage that might occur.”

Professor McGonagall studied the young girl before her with admiration. Her mind was truly one in a million. Along with her talent, she had a passion for learning, and a fierce need to protect others that rivaled anyone that the deputy headmistress had ever met. A wave of pride and excitement flowed through the professor and propelled her into speech. “Many years I have waited for a gift like yours to appear.”

Hermione studied the woman with bemusement and concern. “Professor? Thank you, but-”

Professor McGonagall looked a far cry from her normal composed self. While outwardly she was beaming at one of her favorite students, panic was seeping into the deputy’s eyes.

Outside the door, Pansy recognized this behavior for what it was and ran toward the nearest bathroom to get a glass of water. Luckily, there was one just down the hall, and Pansy dashed back in to hear, “My dear, my dear, I’ll write at once to the Wizard…”

As she burst into the room, nearly spilling the almost full glass of water, Hermione turned toward her, her expression one of complete shock. Pansy, however, took no notice, waiting and listening until there was a short break, which occurred after she sang, “Tell him of you in advance.”

Not listening as Hermione gasped and muttered something, Pansy pressed the glass into the professor’s hand. “Drink while you can.”

However, McGonagall barely had time to raise the glass to her lips before the spell took over again. “With a talent like yours dear, there is a definish chance, if you work as you should…” continued McGonagall, looking gratefully at Pansy, who shot Hermione, who still seemed rather petrified, a triumphant look.

“Who is she singing about?” Pansy whispered to Hermione.

“Spying, were we?” replied Hermione coldly.

“I have just as much a right-“

“I should hope,” broke in Professor McGonagall, whom neither girl realized had regained her normal voice and finished off the water Pansy had brought, “That you two do not display this behavior in front of the students. You are expected to work together.”

The two girls bowed their heads, rather ashamed, and apologized sheepishly.

Pansy looked from the head of Gryffindor to the head student of Gryffindor in exasperation. Even though she knew that they knew no more than she did, she couldn’t resist from repeating, “Who were you singing about?”

Hermione looked as though she were about to say something, but instead, she jerked forward as though she had been punched in the stomach. “Me.”

“Miss Granger!” exclaimed the professor, hurrying around the desk to the girl, who suddenly sat up, and seemed to be in a trance. Professor McGonagall looked at Pansy. “Get some more water, quickly. I fear we’ll need it.”

Hermione seemed to be trying her hardest to hold it in. Pansy, no matter how much she didn’t like her, remembered what it felt like to be in her place, and instead opted to try to help.

“Just let it out,” she said before leaving, “It just gets worse if you don’t.” Pansy was off and running, her mind awhirl with questions. 

* * *

 

Hermione felt like a visitor in her own body. It was a horrible feeling. She was such a stubborn person that she wanted to just stuff the compulsion she felt down until it just went away, but as Pansy promised, every moment she resisted, it felt worse, until she thought she might vomit. Finally, she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Did that really just happen?” she half-said, half-sang, clutching her head dizzily. “Have I actually understood? This weird quirk I’ve tried to suppress or hide is a talent that could help me meet the Wizard.”

Pansy hid a smirk. Quirky was the least of the words she would use to describe the Gryffindor who was currently singing, her voice sweet and melodious, much to the chagrin of the Slytherin. Whoever Granger was playing, it fit her perfectly.

“If I make good. So I’ll make… good…”

Hermione felt some emotion take over her like a wave. It wasn’t so much pride, but determination. There was nothing she could do except ride the wave and hope she wouldn’t be dumped under.

“When I meet the Wizard, once I prove my worth, when I meet the Wizard, what I’ve waited for since- well, since birth!” Hermione was finding it more and more difficult to extricate her own thoughts and emotions from the character- or was it a character? Maybe it really was her, all along.

As she watched the performance, Pansy muttered, “Wow, obsessed much?”

Professor McGonagall quickly shushed her and continued to listen raptly.

“And with all his Wizard wisdom, by my looks he won’t be blinded. “ Hearing Pansy, Hermione shrugged. Maybe she was a bit obsessed. She continued anyway. “Do you think the Wizard is dumb? Or like munchkins, so small-minded?”

She whirled on the other two in the room, who merely wondered what on earth a munchkin was as Hermione shouted, “No!

“He’ll say to me, ‘I see who you truly are, a girl on whom I can rely,’” Hermione became even more swept along by the spell, not caring or thinking about the professor and Head Girl who were gaping at her. “And that’s how we’ll begin, The Wizard and I,”

Professor McGonagall’s brow furrowed. Who was this Elphaba that she knew inherently that she had been speaking to? She wracked her brain, trying to think of any character named Elphaba in the story she remembered from so long ago, but none occurred to her.

Hermione began to pace, excitement filling her. “Once I’m with the Wizard, my whole life will change. ‘Cause once you’re with the Wizard, no thinks you’re strange!”

Hermione gasped, because instead of these intrusive feelings opposing and overcoming her original feelings, they instead merged, fitting perfectly with what she thought in her innermost being, which allowed the spell to take even fuller affect.

“No father is not proud of you, no sister acts ashamed,” she choked out, almost overwhelmed with sadness and resentment to those whom she described. “And all of Oz has to love you when by the Wizard you’re acclaimed!”

Professor McGonagall suddenly had a horrible thought. Temporarily losing hold of her composure, she gasped out, “No! You don’t think-“

“She couldn’t be!” denied Pansy vehemently. No matter how much she disliked the girl, she didn’t want- that.

“And this gift or this curse I have inside, maybe at last I’ll know why,” sang Hermione with rising emotion, “When we are hand in hand, The Wizard and I…”

Momentarily released, Hermione looked from one witch to the other. “What? Who am-"

She was cut off by her own voice. “And one day he’ll say to me, ‘Elphaba, girl who is so superior, shouldn’t a girl who’s so good inside have a matching exterior.”

Pansy and Professor McGonagall looked at each other in dread. They only had the faintest amount of hope that Hermione was not who they feared she would be. However, that hope was dashed when she sang, “And since folks here to an absurd degree are fixated on your verdegris, would it be alright by you if I degreenify you?”

“It is her,” murmured Professor McGonagall weakly, clutching onto her desk, and sitting down in the nearest chair.

Pansy felt frozen. No matter how much she didn’t care for the mudblood, she knew that the curse might kill the girl in front of her.

Hermione was trying to resist her urge to sing. Oh, if only they would tell her who Elphaba was! With a Herculean effort, she croaked out, “Who is-“ before she succumbed, her voice cracking as she was forced to continue. “And of course that’s not important to me- ‘All right, why not?’ I’ll reply. Oh, what a pair we’ll be, the Wizard and I.”

The Head of Gryffindor tore her gaze from the student before her and glanced at Pansy. They could communicate one thing without speaking: Hermione must not know her fate. It might cause even further damage.

“Oh, what a pair we’ll be, the Wizard and-“ Hermione cut off abruptly, causing the other two to think the curse was over. However, she ignored their hurried questions, gazing on the window in a trance-like state.

For someone who thought Divination was a load of mumbo jumbo, she assumed the role rather well. “Unlimited,” she sang in a faraway voice, seemingly peering at something the others could not see. Pansy and Professor McGonagall exchanged worried looks, but didn’t say anything. They knew they needed to hear what was going on. “My future is unlimited. And I just had a vision almost like a prophecy.”

Pansy heard a gasp, but she wasn’t sure whether it issued from the Professor or herself. Did the Witch have the Inner Eye?

“I know- it sounds truly crazy,” Hermione said, flinging up a hand that forestalled any comment the other two might make. “And true, the vision’s hazy, but I swear someday there’ll be a celebration throughout Oz that’s all to do with me!”

Without realizing it, Professor McGonagall had refilled her water glass and was drinking it as she listened, but upon that declaration, she nearly choked. There indeed had been a celebration for the girl in front of her, who was completely lost to the world, singing as though her heart would burst.

“And I’ll stand there with the Wizard, feeling things I’ve never felt. And though I’d never show it, I’d be so happy I could melt!”

Pansy couldn’t swallow for the lump in her throat. Dimly, she appreciated the irony of that statement. But it wasn’t the good kind of irony, but the foreboding kind that was its own brand of dark humor.

“And so it will be for the rest of my life, and I’ll want nothing else ‘til I die!” Throughout this prediction, Hermione had been becoming more and more animated, and during this statement, Hermione seemed almost crazed, her movements flailing like a little kid on Christmas.

“Held in such high esteem, when people see me they will scream, for half of Oz’s favorite team!”

Hermione gasped. She needed more air, but her time was running out- there! “The Wizard and I!”

She held the note for an inordinate amount of time, finally collapsing, and Professor McGonagall and Pansy knew that the spell was gone- for now.

“Are you alright, Miss Granger?” asked the professor, offering her the glass of water that Pansy had fetched, which she accepted gratefully.

Instead of answering, she replied, “That was embarrassing. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” She drank the proffered water eagerly, and the drew from her schoolbag a pain relieving potion. She had a supply on had in case of another incident, but hadn’t imagined that it would be for herself. After ingesting the potion, she held out another dose for Professor McGonagall to take. “Well, you know the drill. Take this, drink water and get plenty of rest, Professor. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll do the same.”

Dumbfounded, Professor McGonagall accepted the potion. Hermione got up, and prepared herself to leave, but Pansy blurted out, against her will, “You have a lovely voice. You needn’t be ashamed.”

Hermione turned around, smiled ruefully, and said, “No, I mean, what I feel- happy and sad at the same time. It might have been me singing just now. I’m sorry you had to see that.” She then turned back around, hoisted her bag on her shoulder, and started making her way to her new dormitory.

The Head Girl and Deputy Headmistress looked at each other in astonishment for a moment, but then Professor McGonagall said, “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Parkinson, I should get some rest.”

“O- of course, Professor.” She stood and helped the older woman stand up, also. Then, she followed the path that Hermione had taken to their dorm. When she entered, she found all her things already there, and Hermione settled in her bed.

After preparing for bed, the Slytherin girl laid down and attempted to relax. A burning question still swirled about in her head. Unable to think about anything else, she addressed the girl across from her, half-hoping she wouldn’t hear. “Does your family still think you’re odd?”

She thought that maybe the girl was asleep, but she sighed heavily. “No, not really.”

Pansy couldn’t really think of an answer to that, so she said, “That’s good,” and settled down into her bed, thinking that she didn’t know why she asked that. _It’s not like I would feel guilty… right?_

So engrossed in her thoughts was she, she nearly missed what the Gryffindor girl whispered. She probably wasn’t meant to hear it at all. “They don’t know I exist.”


	4. What is This Feeling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, my reader friends! Thanks for coming back to read this randomness. Sorry its been a while, life's been... let's just say hectic. Anyway, I am rather impressed with myself. This chapter almost 5,000 words of Wicked goodness. So, on to possibly my favorite song, “What is this Feeling?”   
> Trivia of the Day: I do not own Harry Potter or Wicked. I am simply borrowing their characters for a time.

After a night of uneasy sleep, Pansy was very glad that the next day was a Saturday. When she awoke, she noticed that Hermione was already awake. Her bed was neatly made and everything was a perfect picture. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. Pansy glanced around her room, which was rather more rumpled and haphazard. She quickly straightened her comforter, determined to not let the other girl overshadow her in this.

However, she quickly gave up, deciding that the domestic arts were not for her. That was why there were house elves, after all. Deciding instead to write a letter, she began to descend the stairs, unable to stay in the room that she shared with the other girl any longer. Upon reaching the common room, she noticed that the other students were almost all clustered together in the room. Furthermore, the Gryffindor that she had been trying to avoid thought of was sitting in a corner, both keeping an eye on things in the common room and diligently scribbling away on a long piece of parchment. She would occasionally tell the students to be patient and stay calm, for what reason Pansy was unsure, but otherwise she was focused upon her task. Pansy scowled. How dare she take over her position, and have the audacity to be doing the same action as she had planned? She was supposed to be the darling of Hogwarts, beloved by all and in the positon of command, and her Granger was, ruining it.

Pansy didn't even care why the Gryffindor was trying to keep everyone quiet and together. In a rather immature move, not that Pansy would ever admit it to herself, she took up a spot on the exact opposite side of the common room, with the students between them. She glared at the girl, who hadn't even noticed her presence. She wrote furiously, probably to those two boys who she was rarely seen without. She herself was going to write to Draco. She would have loved to inform her parents of what was going on, but they were… indisposed. At the thought of parents, she increased her glare at the Gryffindor across the room. What right had she to say something like that? _They don't even know I exist._ Was she purposely trying to mess with Pansy's head?

Pansy shook off her thoughts and focused on the parchment that she had prepared. As she pondered how to start, she said, half-longingly, "Dearest, darlingest Momsy and Popsicle." She wrinkled her nose, wondering what had possessed her to say that.

But Pansy quickly realized just what had when Hermione replied from across the chamber, "My dear Father."

The students quickly went as still as stone. They stared back and forth between the two witches, unable to comprehend what was going on. Pansy, they knew, was inflicted with the curse, but _Hermione_? They were too stunned to even move as the two began to sing in unison.

Pansy continued, "There's been some confusion over rooming here at Shiz." She could hear Hermione singing in unison over by the other wall, and she started at her own words. That sounded eerily similar to the circumstances which surrounded her now. She was starting to wonder how far this curse would go. If it could bend fate itself…

She took a breath, half gasp, half necessity. Hermione, however, continued: "But of course I'll care for Nessa…" Hermione wondered who this Nessa was. She had noticed that she had progressively become more in tune with her character's- Elphaba's- emotions since the curse had started. What astounded Hermione was that she hadn't noticed it before. It started subtly, so subtly that she had simply thought it her own thoughts. Even now, she wasn't sure what was her and what was Elphaba's. However, she was pretty sure this rush of protectiveness mingled with exasperation was wholly Elphaba's… or was it?

"But of course I'll rise above it…" sang Pansy, her voice rising at the same word. She made a small face, remembering what her father always said.

"Pansy, you must always be able to rise above tragedy; or at least to push someone so that they will take the fall and walk over them. Failing and troubles are for the weak." It was eerie, how much this girl that was supposedly Pansy's opposite echoed her own thoughts.

Together again, the girls continued their respective 'letters', "For I know that's how you'd want me to respond… yes."

"There's been some confusion for you see my roommate is…" Pansy turned and looked appraisingly at the brown haired girl who was clearly thinking hard. She scowled. Did that girl ever stop thinking?

She searched for words: "Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe…" Hermione glared at her. Apparently she was listening after all.

"Blonde." She said dryly, not bothering to disguise her disgust.

Now rather incensed, both that she would not be able to finish her letter and with the words that Hermione was saying, she rolled up her parchment, glaring at the Gryffindor across the dorm.

Hermione did the same, looking both annoyed and exasperated.

Pansy walked forward, not noticing Hermione mimicking her actions across the room. "What is this feeling, so sudden and new?"

Hermione, still in that dry, sarcastic voice, replied, "I felt the moment I laid eyes on you."

"My pulse is rushing,"

"My head is reeling,"

"My face is flushing," Pansy's hands flew of their own accord to her face, which was indeed growing warmer.

Wonderingly, the two said in unison, "What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame, does it have a name?"

The realization struck them simultaneously as their feet moved seemingly on their own, taking them to the opposite corners, so that they switched sides, with the students still between them.

"Yes…" murmured Hermione, while Pansy echoed her in a higher tone. _Seriously,_ Pansy thought, _Do I ever get a break?_

"Loathing!" They continued loudly, turning to face each other. They looked at each other with an expression that could only be described as the emotion that they sang about. "Unadulterated loathing!"

"For your face," Pansy sneered at the bushy-haired, buck-toothed (Though she couldn't see them at the moment, as Hermione's lips were pressed together in a way very much like McGonagall's) mudblood across from her.

"Your voice," Hermione replied emotionlessly, further infuriating Pansy.

"Your clothing," returned Pansy, thrilled to have an outlet.

Together, they sang fervently, "Let's just say… I loathe it all!"

"Ev'ry little trait, however small," Pansy remembered what Draco did what felt like forever ago during class, and imitated it now, raising her hand as high as it would go and baring her two front teeth. "Makes my very flesh begin to crawl with simple utter loathing."

Both girls' heads whipped around to stare at each other again, which made the students in between them feel rather uncomfortable, but they still felt frozen to the ground. A few of the more perceptive ones among them had figured out by that time that shock was not what was holding them to the ground, but the spell. They were unable to leave, which filled them with dread for what would happen next.

Pansy and Hermione began to walk toward each other as though drawn by a magnetic force, singing all the while. "There's a strange exhilaration in such total detestation. It's so pure, so strong!" On the last few words, they turned so that they faced out and their backs were together. Then, as though they realized just what they were doing, they turned quickly and began to back away. "Though I do admit it came on fast, still I do believe that it can last, and I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long!" They ended up as far away from each other as possible, taking great deep breaths. Both of them, though they did not know the other felt it, could feel rage and yes, loathing, coursing through their veins, powerful and dangerous.

Pansy, however, had no time to rest, as the students finally broke out of their silence, crowding around Glinda- Pansy. Pansy felt a jolt as she realized that she had just thought of herself as Glinda, which scared her to no end. She made a mental note, but could not concentrate as she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she turned to face the crowd. She decided quickly to go along with the feeling, her grin widening as the students began to sing, staring at her in awe. _This is what I deserve. I deserve their adoration, their pity._ "Dear Galinda, you are just too good!"

Over on the far side of the room, all alone, Hermione seethed, unaware whether her rage came from Elphaba or herself. What had Pansy done to deserve their love? Didn't they see how she tried so hard?

"How do you stand it, I don't think I could! She's a terror, she's a tartar, we don't mean to show a bias, but Galinda, you're a martyr!

By this time, Pansy had climbed onto a chair, but still they pressed in, some even kneeling around her. It was a little over-whelming, but Pansy tried for her winningest smile. "Well, these things are sent to try us."

Thankfully, the students relinquished their suffocatingly close positions to Ga- Pansy to back away from and glare at Hermione who stood there with a sad yet annoyed expression. Pansy couldn't help but feel triumph at the Gryffindor's despondent expression. She deserved it after all these years.

"Poor Galinda, forced to reside with someone so disgusticified, we just want to tell you, we're all on your side!"

In the midst of all of this pandemonium, Professor McGonagall arrived. She opened the door just in time to hear the last of the declaration, from "Poor Galinda…" she gasped, along with Hermione. Even though she knew that she was hated by the others in this horrible scene, this was almost too much to bear.

Unaffected, the students continued, "We share your loathing, unadulterated loathing…"

However, Pansy and Hermione were singing something wholly different, reverting back to the beginning of the song in true musical style. "What is this feeling, so sudden and new?"

"I felt the moment I laid eyes on you…"

"For her face, her voice, her clothing…"

Professor McGonagall stood aghast at the scene before her. The Head Girl and Apprentice were on the opposite sides of the room, pointing at each other with a horrible emotion in their eyes. The normally calm Gryffindor seemed to have lost her head, and the rather more volatile Head Girl had been pulled with her. To top it all off, the others in the room had apparently been affected and were all cringing in fear at the sight of Hermione, whom they normally respected and loved. "Girls!" she exclaimed, but to no avail. For the first time in her life, when she called for attention, she was met with no answer.

"My pulse is rushing," Enraged at this treatment that she was receiving, Hermione tried to ignore the girl singing in unison beside her.

"Let's just say…"

"My head is reeling…" The two girls clutched at their temples as they tried vainly to regain control of their movements and words.

"We loathe it all!"

"Oh, what is this feeling?" The two burst out, unable to resist any longer.

"Ev'ry little trait however small… Makes our very flesh begin to crawl…" Their ensemble gave their two cents almost immediately.

Splitting parts, the girls cried vehemently, "Does it have a name? Yes- Ahhh…!"

The students joined in, "AHHH! Loathing!"

The ensemble repeated, "Loathing."

The girls split off again, taken by the tide of emotion crashing over them, causing them to glare with such intensity that it was a surprise that neither was harmed.

"There's a strange exhilaration…"

"Loathing."

"In such total detestation…" The two witches were being drawn toward each other, but Professor McGonagall, who had not seen the earlier instance, thought that maybe it was over. How wrong she was.

"Loathing."

"It's so pure, so strong!" Just as before, they faced away from each other, but then realized their actions and backed away.

The students, prepared to say 'Loathing', were taken by surprise when they instead sang, "So strong!" Their surprise caused a few voices to crack, but fortunately (or unfortunately), their voices were all getting much stronger, so that when they were called upon to do so, they were not afflicted with copious pain.

"Though I do admit it came on fast, still I do believe that it can last." The Gryffindor and the Slytherin were again on opposite sides of the common room, but with all the others on Pansy's side, Hermione seemed much more alone than before. Still, they glared at each other with a hatred that was only intensified by either their character's feelings or their own- neither was quite sure.

"And I will be loathing, for forever loathing, truly, deeply loathing you!" After each "Loathing," the students echoed, giving a sense of weight to the word, but it was obvious that their words directed towards Elphaba- or Hermione. For the girl herself, however, this just served to fuel her anger and loathing- there really was no other word for it- for the seemingly 'perfect' girl across from her.

"My whole life long!" The two sang at the top of their voices, their emotions fueling their abilities until they nearly drowned out the chorus, which eked out another "Loathing, unadulterated loathing!"

For a long moment, no one moved. Pansy and Hermione were nearly chest-to-chest, standing maybe six inches from each other. Pansy was smiling smugly at Hermione, while Hermione was keeping her head up, still proud even though everyone seemed against her. As she stood there, looking at Pansy's smug face, she got an idea and acted without thinking.

"Boo!"

"AH!" In response to her startling cry, Pansy jumped, and just about everyone in the common room with her.

"Miss Granger!" cried the Deputy Headmistress, astonished. She might have expected it of the Slytherin, but Hermione?

This cry seemed to have released the curse, causing everyone to breathe normally again. Luckily, though, no one started passing out again. However, so many questions and murmurs broke out that Professor McGonagall had to wait to say her piece.

One of the first years asked, "Are you cursed too, Miss Granger?" She then turned bright red at the apparent simplicity of her question. Hermione had no time to answer, however, because of the tide of other voices.

"You have a beautiful voice-"

"Oh no-"

"What if-"

"How-"

"Sweet Mer-"

Over the din, one voice made itself known. "Hermione, are you okay?" Ginny asked, looking concernedly at the witch who seemed shocked and a little bit out of it.

At her friend's voice, Hermione shook herself out of her stupor and replied, "Yes, Ginny, I'm fine, thanks." She continued while heading towards her bag, which contained pain-relief potion. "Yes, I got hit last night. Does anyone need a potion?"

While some accepted the reprieve, many knew that the potion tended to make one drowsy, and they wanted to hear the explanation that was sure to follow.

Professor McGonagall clapped her hands, and all the students turned toward her, listening intently. "As you have observed, last night the curse took hold of Miss Granger. However, there has been one more inflicted."

At this, another hum of chatter grew. The same questions were being tossed around: Who was the other? What was their role? And most importantly, what in the name of Merlin had just happened?

The Professor once again gained their attention and continued, "The other person is myself." A shocked gasp went up. This was almost as big a blow as Dumbledore being affected. However, no one said anything, a testament to how serious the situation was. Normally, Hogwarts students wasted no opportunity to gossip and chatter among themselves.

"I am playing the part of a Madam Morrible. She is a headmistress of sorts, which seems to make sense."

The unanswered question still hung in the air, but Ernie Macmillan was the one who voiced it. "Professor, if you don't mind me asking, who exactly was Hermione?"

So quickly that it almost went unnoticed, Professor McGonagall's eyes seemed to betray uncertainty. Hermione herself answered the question. "I am- That is, my character's name is Elphaba."

Ernie seemed like he wanted to ask more questions, but Zacharias Smith cut him off.

"What's happening to us?"

Professor McGonagall sighed, looking to the two girls who were determinedly not looking at each other. She decided that they deserved to know some things, but too much might be dangerous. She chose her words carefully. "The curse has no counter-curse, so we are taking precautions to ensure your safety. You are being forced to reenact a story from long ago, and we are doing everything we can to learn more about why and how this curse is being unleashed. For now, however, there is nothing that we can do except let it run its course." She wanted to say more, but was cut off by cries of,

"What-"

"That's"

"Rubbish!"

"Everybody, please!" Professor McGonagall tried to make herself heard, but eventually had to resort to shooting sparks from her wand. The Head Girl and Apprentice moved to either side of the Professor, and the combined effect was enough to quiet the students, though mutinous whispers could still be heard.

"I know this is difficult and exasperating, but I ask you all to remain calm. Remember, we are all being affected the same, and we are doing everything we can to stop this. However, it will be difficult, as there are no valid sources of information on this curse or the time we are being forced to reenacting. Therefore, the Headmaster will be asking you all to come to his office to report your experiences. In addition, I would suggest journaling your feelings and emotions that you experience, as the documentation that Professor Dumbledore is using only documents facts, not feelings. While this is helpful in some respects, anything that we can use to help stop this curse is eagerly accepted. "

"You all are free to spend the afternoon how you would like, but I ask that you arrive back at the common room before curfew. If there is anything to report, it will be told then. I ask you all to try to stick together." She looked at the two on either side of her, who were still looking anywhere but the girl that played their opposing role. She spoke to the entire room, but her words were directed to the two. "If we start fighting among ourselves, then nothing will get accomplished. A famous American said once, 'A house divided against itself cannot stand.' I urge you to not let this start petty feuds and tear us apart. Whether or not that is our attacker's intention, it can bring nothing but ill. Stay strong, or else we may never be able to lift this curse. Thank you."

As though time had been restarted, all the students moved together. Many headed out the door to the rest of the castle, probably to go outside to the extremely nice day. A few, however, went to rest in their rooms, tired from their ordeal a few minutes before. Before long, it was just Pansy and Hermione, who still were avoiding each other, and Professor McGonagall, who was observing the two with steely gazes.

"The headmaster has agreed to allow the students to use his pensieve. I will show you how to use it so the headmaster has time to focus on other matters."

Both girls nodded silently. Professor McGonagall sighed again, feeling old in this moment. "I did mean what I said before. We must work together. I know it will be difficult, especially with everything the way it is, but it must happen. Am I understood."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, wishing the girl over by the opposite wall would disappear. The professor, knowing that nothing else could be said, simply turned and left, hoping against hope that her words had sunk in.

Noticing that she was now alone with the Head Girl, Hermione grit her teeth and collected her abandoned parchment. She was about to go upstairs to write more, and tell Harry and Ron of the latest development, but the two who she had been about to write to climbed through the entrance to the common room. Looking around, they spotted her and quickly rushed over.

"Hermione…" Harry sighed, "What are we going to do with you?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Hermione asked, hoping that maybe they hadn't heard yet, but news travels fast in Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore told us." Ron confirmed, looking more serious than she customarily saw him. "Hermione, what-?"

"I don't know." She sighed, feeling useless. She heard a small snicker coming from the other side of the room. All three turned toward the noise, only to find that Malfoy had entered the room, and was standing with Pansy, the two obviously discussing them, dissecting as though they were insects for an experiment.

* * *

"So, Granger has been hit, too, has she?" Malfoy said calmly, as though discussing the weather.

Pansy sniggered. "Voice like an angel, that one has."

Across the empty room, the Golden Trio could hear their snide comments as clearly as though they were said to them. Hermione simply sighed and turned away, McGonagall's advice ringing in her ears, but Harry and Ron whipped around, both of their hands twitching toward their wands.

"There's no need for rudeness, Parkinson," Harry said, causing Hermione to whip around also.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, half in reprimand for letting them get to him, half aghast at what he had implied.

Pansy and Draco seemed taken aback, unused to seeing any discord from the Golden Trio, who were usually a unified patch of rainbows and sunshine.

Ron, however, was quick to intervene. "Hermione, you know he didn't mean it like that. He was just wishing that Pansy would stop being such an ignorant cow."

Draco drew his wand, Ron and Harry mirroring him. "Take that back."

"Never," Ron said defiantly.

Right as it seemed a fight was going to break out, the two girls remembered McGonagall's advice and knew that fighting would only cause more harm. They simultaneously moved between the boys, Pansy pulling Draco's hand down, as Hermione convinced Ron and Harry to leave him alone. "He's not worth it. You shouldn't fight anymore. The war is over."

Neither party missed how similar the girls were acting, despite their differences. Neither girl, however, took note of the other's actions, wholly focused on diverting their fight.

Harry, who had stowed his wand away much more readily than Ron, broke up the tension with a question. "So, what happened, Hermione?"

Her attention immediately shifting, she said, "Well, I am was inflicted yesterday, and from what I can tell, Pansy and I-" she gestured between herself and the Head Girl, who had a sneer still on her face, "Hate each other."

"Hate?" Pansy scoffed. "They loathe each other. Weren't you listening? Although it could also be said that everyone else hates you."

Ron, Harry, and Malfoy looked back and forth between the two witches. "Are we still talking about the spell?" Ron murmured quietly. Neither witch heard him.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "It wasn't like I- she was too thrilled with them either. They were treating her like some kind of mutant- like an alien-"

"A what?" Pansy was questioning the other girl's sanity.

"Alien- you know, a creature from space?" Harry offered. He shrank back as the two stared at him like they had just remembered he was there. He had faced down dark wizards galore, but the look he received now was different than all of that. It was scary, but not in a facing-down-evil way, in a lonely and scared kind of way. It was almost worse than battling for your life.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked away. "Anyway, they were acting like she wasn't worthy of being with them, and that she was less than human. That's what I meant."

"Like you? I mean what with being a mudblood and all?" Pansy replied with a completely straight face.

Hermione seemed to be having trouble breathing, while Harry struggled with both the urge to hex Pansy to kingdom come and with holding Ron in his seat. Even Malfoy seemed shocked.

"Pansy," He reprimanded sharply. He knew that she was having a rough time adjusting, but they all were. He was trying hard to drop his prejudices, and he thought that she was doing the same.

At the sound of Draco's voice, Hermione regained her composure and replied, "Yes, like that," without the slightest hint of hurt on her face. "But funny, Professor McGonagall seemed to think that I was more powerful, though."

Draco was taken aback. That remark was almost Slytherin-like.

"That wasn't even McGonagall, it was Madam Morrible. And she was talking to Elphaba." Pansy retorted.

Draco, who hadn't heard what Hermione had told to Ron and Harry, asked, "Who's Elphaba?"

"She is," Pansy spat. "Her and her freakish skin and her freakish abilities. She didn't even use a wand!"

"Whoa, Hermione," cut in Harry. "You did what?"

"No- I can't- I wish!" gasped the aforementioned girl, overtaken by… something. It almost felt like a memory… But it couldn't be. She'd never done something like that.

"Ha," scoffed the Head Girl, in control once more. "Wandless magic is a lost art, Granger. It's not something that happens anymore."

Ignoring the two Slytherins, the trio talked to each other. "I think I- Elphaba- preformed wandless magic at some point. There had to have been something to make Madam Morrible think so highly of me."

"No kidding!" Pansy felt incredulous. On top of everything that day, she and Draco were being ignored even though they were right there. Pansy Parkinson hated being ignored.

"It's not worth it," Draco murmured. "Let's just go, shall we? No need to hang around them any more than necessary."

Pansy once again glared at the trio before conceding and heading up to her dorm with Draco.

This time, it was the trio left with incredulous expressions.

"Well, I won't be able to go upstairs for who knows how long." Hermione stated this with a rather sad look on her face. "My stuff-"

"Don't worry, Hermione," soothed Harry. "Even they wouldn't go through your stuff for fun."

"Yeah," chimed Ron, making some light of the situation, "Aren't they allergic to red and gold?"

The trio laughed, their mood lightening for the first time in a while. After a bit, however, Hermione grew serious again. "Ron, have you remembered any more about the tale?"

Ron flopped down in the nearest chair and scratched his head contemplatively. "I don't know. It's been such a long time. The memory's a bit hazy."

"Well, maybe we could use Dumbledore's pensieve?" Hermione suggested, thinking hard. "You would need to concentrate on what you do know, though. Do you remember anything?"

"No…yes!" Ron sat up in his seat. "I remember Glinda-"

"It's _Ga_ linda, with a Ga…" Pansy burst into the room, but then halted as she realized what had just occurred.

"Eavesdropping, are we?" Hermione crossed her arms coolly.

Pansy had the decency to blush, but she didn't respond to Hermione's taunt. Looking at Ron, she insisted, "It's Galinda."

Draco followed Pansy down the stairs, but at a more sedate pace. "But, they called you Glinda in the hall, when this whole mess started."

Pansy buried her face in her hands, massaging her temples as though to bring clarity to the situation. I don't know… that girl was almost sadder, wiser. This Galinda is bubbly and fun and doesn't have a care in the world."

Draco flopped into a chair by the fire, surprising the Gryffindors. They didn't know that Slytherins could flop or sit in a way that wasn't perfectly postured. "So, are you saying you're two people?"

Pansy shook her head vehemently. "No, they're the same, but…" She trailed off as a phoenix feather floated down from nowhere. Accompanying the feather was a note, which Pansy grabbed so quickly that the Gryffindors in the room never had a chance. She and Draco read the note, only then announcing that Dumbledore wished to see all of them.

"All of us?" Ron echoed.

"Yes," Pansy replied impatiently. "Can't you hear?"

"Well, excuse me for clarifying-"

"Okay, that's all well and good, but can we go now?" Draco broke up the would-be fight, surprising everyone.

"Sure you can bear to be in the company of us for the time it takes to walk to the office?" Harry offered.

"You're right." Pansy moved toward the door, tossing her hair over her shoulders. "We'll head that way. You three follow us in five minutes."

With that declaration, the Slytherins swept out of the room.

Hermione picked up the scroll. "Think they read far enough to get the password?"

Ron fake-gasped. "They can read?"

This overly dramatic statement caused the mood to lift as quickly as though a blanket had been removed. Through the giggles and full-out laughs that filled the common room, Hermione gasped, "We should probably leave. Their majesties are waiting." She curtsied in an over-the-top manner, causing even more gales of laughter. By the time that they settled down enough to seek the Headmaster's office, much more than five minutes had gone by.

When they arrived, they were greeted with a sight that caused even more laughter. Pansy and Draco were outside the office, standing in front of the gargoyle that guarded it. They were staring at the statue in perplexity. When the trio arrived, Draco turned to them and said, "Do you know the password?" Neither Slytherin could understand why this question caused such hilarity, but it was several more minutes before the odd group entered his office.


	5. On Sass, Chess, and Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I'm so sorry for the absence. Long story short, life has happened and this is the first time I've had some free time in months. I will continue to keep posting when possible. So here's the next installment of Something Wicked.

As Harry finally composed himself enough to gasp out the password (Giggling Gumdrops, ironically enough), Draco turned to the trio and asked, “How did you know that?”

“Because we can read.” Ron said, in the tone of explaining something very simple to an extremely slow person. 

The duo seemed to have no reply to that, so they started up the stairs. Determinedly not looking at each other, lest they burst out laughing again, the three hurried after them.

They caught up just as the Slytherins knocked on the door. Not even waiting for a response, Harry opened the door, and the trio walked in, leaving the other two staring after them in bewilderment. 

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, spreading his arms and standing up from his desk. “I was expecting you.”

“Oh, cut the theatrics,” Harry replied. The Slytherins, who were still standing in the doorway, were shocked to see the Boy Who Lived speaking so flippantly to the leader of the light. Ron wandered across the room to a table in a corner. He leaned over the board set up in the midst of a chess game, considered it, then moved a piece. 

“Good move, but you left your knight open. He’s the only one guarding the king.”

Dumbledore simply chuckled and moved over to where Hermione was browsing the bookshelves lining the office. He plucked out a book and handed it to her. “I think that you would enjoy this one.” 

She looked at the cover, which appeared to be covered in simple scribbles. However, she seemed to understand it, and handed it back to him. “Thank you, Professor, but I already read this one.” His eyebrows lifted, but instead of seeming surprised, he simply seemed satisfied.

“Nothing more than I expected of you, Miss Granger.” He turned to the Slytherins, who were still standing stock still in the doorway, bemused by what was occurring in the office.

“Please, sit, Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy.” Numbly, they took the comfy seats in front of the Headmaster’s desk. The Golden Trio wandered over from their various positions and conjured chairs for themselves. “So, what brings you to my office today?”  
Harry sat forward. “We need to use your pensive.”

Dumbledore blinked. Quickly composing himself, he laced his fingers. “Do you believe that to be wise?”

Ron’s face had the expression of a child trying to understand why he was being punished- a sort of quizzical disappointment. “Why wouldn’t it be fine? It’s not like anything will happen. Harry’s been in loads of times and he’s still mostly sane.”

Harry threw a sardonic look at his friend, but spoke to Dumbledore. “Yes, we think it to be the best idea.”

Dumbledore considered for a moment, and then nodded. “You know what to do.”

Pansy cleared her throat. “Sir, aren’t you coming with us?”

Dumbledore surveyed her as though not quite sure what to make of the Head Girl. “No, I believe not. This is in your hands now.”  
Trying not to feel the overwhelming sense of dread that overcame her at his words, Pansy watched as Potter strode over toward the side of the room. She noted that he had no hesitancy in his actions, as though this was a familiar action. Vaguely, she wondered just how much time the trio spent in this office to be so intimately familiar with the room and its inhabitants. For goodness sake, Harry spoke back to Dumbledore! No one did that, even McGonagall.

She shook her head, as though to rid herself of excess musings. While she was lost in her thoughts, Potter had set up a shallow bowl with weird markings on it- runes, she supposed. There was something like liquid clouds in the bowl, but Potter didn’t seem bothered. The other two of the trio were at a kind of carousel with little vials of the same cloud-like substance. She moved over to take a look, and noticed that they were all labeled with a name, date, and short description. She read a few aloud. “Colin Creevey, 9/1/1999, Great Hall. Hermione Granger, 9/17/1999, Hospital Wing. What are these?” 

Harry looked up from the basin. She figured it was the pensive. “Memories. You put them in here, and stick your face in it-“

Dumbledore coughed lightly. “I believe that hands will work for this exercise, since there are so many of you.”

“Wait,” Pansy cried, “What are we doing with these… memories?”

“We enter them,” Potter said, like he was discussing the latest charms essay.

Malfoy, who had been oddly silent all this time, spoke up. “What?”

Hermione sighed. “We’ll be like shadows. They won’t see or hear us, but we can see or hear anything. Okay, I think we should start with the most recent and work our way back. I have clearer memories of the first few, so that might help.”

She put her wand to her head and screwed up her face, as though mentally preparing for something really painful. A small silvery strand came loose, and she carefully brushed it into a flask. “Now it’s your turn, Pansy.”

She recoiled. “Excuse me?” 

“Just concentrate really hard on the last singing memory. Harry, can you do it? I can do myself, but I hate doing it to other people.”  
The bespectacled boy approached her, wand in hand. She shied away slightly, but he just smiled encouragingly. “You can do it. Just try to immerse yourself in the memory. Remember how everything was and how it felt.”

Pansy took a breath, then shut her eyes. She imagined that she was making the same face that Hermione just had. She heard the clear voice of Elp- Hermione. Why had she thought that? Focus, Pans she scolded herself. She saw the bright outside, Professor McGonagall trying in vain to break them apart. She could even smell the parchment that was now tucked away. Then, there was a kind of shift. The memory was still there, but it felt blurry and indistinct. She heard Harry’s voice. “Okay, you’re good. I’ve got you.”

She opened her eyes. On his wand, he held a long silvery strand, much like Hermione. He dropped it in. “Alright, on the count of three, we will all put our hands in the bowl. Okay?” Everyone nodded, even Draco, and moved to stand around the bowl.

“One… Two…” Pansy stared at the liquid and once again pushed down the foreboding feeling. What could go wrong… right?

“Three!” As one, they plunged their hands into the bowl, and the world whirled and faded around them.

________________________________________  
Famous Last Words, Pansy scolded herself, lying in her bed back in the tower. She had known better than to say things like that, but yet she had anyway. It was too late to beat herself up now, anyway. Instead, she ran back through the encounter in her head, trying to figure out what exactly had transpired in the last few hours. It got a little bit hazy, as though her brain was trying to erase the memory from her body, but she was able to recollect a few details.

When the environment around her had solidified, she was standing in the tower that she inhabited for the time being. It was surreal, seeing herself standing only a few feet away. She mentally made a face at the scene. Did she really look like that all the time? Focus, she chided herself. She looked around the entire room, searching for anything out of place. She felt an odd tickle in the back of her head, as though the memory were reacting to being yanked out of her head, then being relived seconds after. She tried to ignore the sensation, and focused on the crowd of students in the room. She subconsciously found herself scanning the faces, as though looking for someone, but that couldn’t be right. Who would she have been looking for? She didn’t have any friends possessed by the curse. In fact, she didn’t have many friends, period. A flash of movement caught her eye, but it was just Hermione from the memory shifting in her chair. As she glanced over, she caught a glimpse of Hermione tucking something down her shirt. What could that have been? Pansy made a mental note to interrogate her later.

Somehow, the odd tickle that she felt had spread to her chest as well as her heart, and turned almost painful, as though something were fighting to get out. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it was making it significantly harder to pay attention.   
Right as memory Pansy began singing, the pain grew white hot. With a gasp, she crumpled. Instead of hearing the song through her ears, she heard it in her head. It was almost as though there was another person inside of her who had been speaking through Pansy’s body. She couldn’t comprehend much, but she noticed a smear of red near her. Was it blood? No, it was Ron’s hair. She detected Malfoy nearby also. 

After that, everything became a bit woozy. When they visited her, the boys had filled in the gaps for her. Apparently, she began shaking, and hadn’t seemed to recognize any of them. Nearby, Hermione had collapsed similarly, but not as badly. They weren’t sure what had caused the difference, but Harry had gotten them out as soon as they could. Once out, both of the girls collapsed, and the boys had been forced to bring them back to their tower. 

So here she was, lying in the bed, cursing herself for being so careless. Growing up in a pureblood household, she had been raised to be highly superstitious. She knew words had power. That’s part of why she was so conflicted about her parents being in Azkaban. She was their daughter. She was supposed to love them and want them back, right? But words had power. They had masked insults behind smiling faces and ‘good for you’ lectures. For years, she had worked to make her parents proud of her, to get more smiles and hugs. Finally, once they were gone to Azkaban, she realized that she felt that she had to work so hard was because the love always seemed hollow, something that they had to do. 

When she refocused in the moment, she noted that Granger was already up and about. Pansy took this as yet another sign of the other girl’s ‘superiority’. She was able to get up and going faster, so she must feel superior to the Slytherin. She knew that that feeling was irrational, yet she couldn’t seem to shake it. Whatever was happening, it seemed to be amplifying her emotions, making her bitterer and angrier. 

When Hermione noticed that Pansy was awake, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

Pansy blinked in surprise. She had been expecting to be ignored, but here she was, being asked how she felt. Granger probably only asked out of formality, so she was about to answer with a perfunctory, ‘Fine,’ but she decided to be honest, for once.  
“Hungry.”

“Me too.” Hermione appeared to have a sudden idea. “You want to get some food?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. Couldn’t the girl see that she was in no shape to get out of bed? And she was supposed to be learning about healing…

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione called, “Dobby!”

Pansy’s brow furrowed. Why on earth was she calling the name of the Malfoy’s old elf? She had no idea what had happened to him, but if she had ever thought about it, not that she had (who would ever think about house elves?), she would have thought that he had died years ago. But yet, there was a pop, and the little elf stood there. He was holding a large tray, filled with pastries and pots of drinks. She couldn’t tell what all of it was, but the plethora of food smelled heavenly.

“Dobby has brought Miss Hermione’s snacks!” chirped Dobby in his usual enthused way. He then caught sight of Pansy, and shrank back a bit, before recollecting himself and standing as tall as he could.

“Why, thank you, Dobby,” replied Hermione kindly, taking the elf’s tray and setting it on her desk. 

“It is a pleasure to serve Miss Hermione! Dobby cannot thank her enough for all the clothes she has made him!”

While the little elf and the apprentice chatted, Pansy stood there in silence. She had had no idea that elves talked to humans. She barely even knew that house elves talked at all, except to say, “Yes, master,” or “No, master.” And yet, here Hermione was, talking to the elf like they were friends- equals. 

She was broken out of her reverie by Hermione, who was holding out a croissant. “You want one?” She wanted to refuse, just on principle, but those flaky little patriots were her weakness. Somewhat reluctantly, she took the proffered food and sat with the twosome. Hermione was explaining about the problem to Dobby, whose green eyes were growing bigger with each word. Pansy was actually a little worried that they would pop out, which would be kind of gross. 

“So, Dobby,” Hermione finished finally, smiling at the little elf,” I was wondering if you had heard anything that might help us.” As Pansy watched, Dobby looked from Hermione to herself, then started to reach for the nearest hard surface, which happened to be the hot tea kettle. “It’s alright, Dobby,” Hermione quickly intervened, catching the elf’s wrist gently. “Can you not tell us?” 

“Dobby does not want to say now,” the elf muttered quietly, his eyes still on the Slytherin girl.

Hermione seemed to understand. She smiled comfortingly at Dobby, then politely asked Pansy if she would give them a minute.  
Pansy thought about refusing to move, but after losing the staring contest with the other girl, she grudgingly got up, brushed the crumbs off her skirt, and marched out of the room. 

A few minutes later, Hermione left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Pansy leapt back, trying to pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping. Unfortunately, Hermione, anticipating this, had placed a Muffliato charm on the door, so Pansy had been unable to hear through the buzzing in her ears. 

“We need to go see someone.” Hermione marched past Pansy without stopping, forcing the other girl to skip in a very undignified way to catch up. 

“Where are you going, mud- “ Pansy stopped herself, both linguistically and physically. Why she should follow this muggleborn wherever she was headed? She had more dignity than to follow someone wherever they went. A brief image of Malfoy flashed across her mind, but she pushed it out of the way. 

Eventually, however, her fear of missing vital information that might not be relayed to her otherwise won out, and she went after the brown haired girl who was nearly at the end of the corridor. 

She only became more perplexed as Hermione did not stop at any of the professor’s offices, nor in any of the places that were commonly highly populated, but headed across the grounds at such a clip that Pansy nearly had to run to keep up. Hermione only stopped when she had reached the edge of the woods, where Hagrid’s hut lay.

Pansy had to stifle a groan. She had never liked the gamekeeper. He was different, and she had always been taught by her parents to dislike differences from the traditional pureblood way. And Hagrid was a half-giant, about as far from that ideal as could be.  
Hermione, however, did not share this hesitation. She marched right up and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Hagrid appeared in the doorway in his bearded glory, Fang whining in the hut behind him.

“All right, Hermione?” Hagrid rumbled. (A/N: I am not going to attempt to write Hagrid’s accent, since I doubt how well I would be able to pull it off. You will need to imagine the dialect for yourselves, but I have full confidence in your abilities, so you should be okay.)

“Guess so. May we come in?” Hermione smiled warmly at the man.

“We?” He caught sight of Pansy, and his expression betrayed his surprise for a moment, before he recomposed his features. “Of course. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione replied, shooting Pansy a look like, you better be nice or else, before following the half-giant inside. With some trepidation, Pansy stepped in behind her, not quite closing the door. Just in case, she told herself.

Despite the croissant she’d had earlier, Pansy was still starving. Before she could reach out for one of the rock cakes that Hagrid had set out, she caught Hermione’s eye. The brunette girl gave a very slight shake of the head. Figuring that she knew best (again), Pansy withdrew her hand. 

“So, Hagrid, how have you been?” Hermione inquired politely.

“Not so bad, not so bad. I just got a shipment of crups for the 3rd years.” He looked rather unenthusiastic at the prospect of creatures that were not in any way detrimental to the health, but there seemed to be an even bigger emptiness that Pansy couldn’t identify. “How you been, Hermione?”

“Alright, but we’ve been busy trying to find out about this curse. We knew that you know more about the grounds than basically anyone, so we wanted to ask if you knew anything that might help.

Hagrid’s face grew steadily redder. Pansy thought maybe he was embarrassed about something, but upon closer inspection, she recognized the expression on his bearded face. “Granger…”

But the apprentice seemed to not be able to hear Pansy, or was studiously ignoring her. 

“Are you alright, Hagrid?”

Hagrid seemed a bit startled. “Oh, Miss Elphaba, don't worry about me, go along and enjoy your friends.” Pansy started. Elphaba? Oh no…. She racked her brain for anything she could do, but nothing came to mind, except to simply absorb as much as possible to store in the Pensieve. 

Hermione smiled ruefully at the big man, and replied matter-of-factly, “Oh that's alright, I have no friends. Would you like to share my lunch?” She reached forward and offered him a rock cake, which he accepted gratefully.

“Oh, thank you! How kind. “ He bit into it, and Pansy was suddenly glad that she had heeded Hermione’s advice. The sound that the cake made in his mouth sounded rather like a glacier might make as it broke apart. He chewed morosely for a second, not seeming to notice the ominous cracking. He then caught sight of a note on the table and slowly stopped chewing. Pansy leaned over and just caught the words: “Giants should be hiding in caves, not teaching students” before Hagrid shoved the note out of the way and put down his rock cake. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

Hermione had also read the note, and grimaced in understanding. “You shouldn't let statements like that bother you. I mean, I always do, but you shouldn't. “ 

Pansy stared at her. The line was something Granger might have said, but it was delivered in such a way- she didn't know what to think- it almost seemed full of some emotion that she couldn't quite place...

Hagrid sighed heavily. “Oh Miss Elphaba, if it were only a matter of words on a chalkboard. But the things one hears these days... dreadful things! Miss Elphaba... I’ve heard of an ox, a professor from Quox, no longer permitted to teach, who has lost all powers of speech.”

Pansy had no idea where Quox was, or even if it existed in this world, but she began making a mental list of all the ‘facts’ Hagrid was listing off, which occupied her for the rest of the song, and made her focus.

________________________________________

Hermione had the same thought as Pansy when Hagrid first said Elphaba. Oh no… Even worse, she could feel that other presence, her ride along passenger, stirring within her, seeing through her eyes, hearing through her eyes, speaking through her mouth. After Hagrid declared his first statement, she (though she was unsure whether ‘she’ denoted Hermione or Elphaba) let out a small gasp: “What?”

Hagrid nodded gravely, then continued, “And an owl in Munchkin Rock, a vicar with a thriving flock- forbidden to preach! Now he only can screech! Only rumors, but still enough to give pause to anyone with paws. Something bad is happening in Oz.”  
Hermione coughed, then sang, “Something bad… happening in Oz?”

Hagrid looked panicked, and Hermione felt a similar sense of panic, coupled with disbelief, rising up her throat. “Under the surface, behind the scenes.” Hagrid was now looking around as if trying to find a threat, but he didn’t seem to register Pansy. “Something baahh…” He trailed off, his voice going between a kind of bleat and a grunt. A blunt? A great? Hermione wasn’t sure, but it sounded painful. 

“Dr. Dillamond, are you alright? Shall I fetch you a glass of water?” She was halfway out of her seat before Hagrid spoke.  
“No, I don’t know what came over me.”

Hermione sank back into her seat, mulling over what she had just heard. She managed to control her own body long enough to say, “Wait, but then-“ before Elphaba burst back in, irritating Hermione immensely. She hated being interrupted, even when it was by herself She hated it especially when the interrupter happened to be someone- something that had continuously interrupted her since the beginning of term. If Elphaba were corporeal, she was sure she would have hexed her long ago. 

“So, you’re saying that there are Animals that have, somehow, forgotten how to speak? But, how is that possible?” Hermione wanted to scream at the person in her head. Sure, Elphaba was in shock, but really? She knew from experience that Elphaba was not stupid. But, couldn’t she have asked a better question? Wasn’t it obvious that the Animals were losing their ability to speak? Hermione was more concerned about the fact that they had spoken in the first place. She felt her head gearing up for the onslaught of information and questions that were about to swarm her, but she tamped them down for the time being. There would be time for that later.

“Doctor Dillamond, if something bad is happening to the Animals then someone has to tell the Wizard. That’s why we have a Wizard!” She felt another flash of irritation at the hope blossoming in her heart against her will. This girl, Elphaba, while she was book smart, seemed very naïve. She almost thought this Wizard was akin to a god. She had learned the hard way to never elevate someone that much, as they were never as great as they were made out to be and you were surely in for a disappointment. Elphaba, however, was in control at the moment, so Hermione sighed and sang, “So nothing bad…”

Hermione’s sweet voice and Hagrid’s gravelly one sang together (Or was it Elphaba and Dr. Dillamond?), “Nothing all that bad…” Hermione smiled kindly at Hagrid, but her smile faltered when he once again sang, “Nothing truly baahhh…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sorry, bad.” 

Again, Hermione sighed at Elphaba’s determination to hide under a rock and ignore the obvious: “It couldn’t happen here in Oz…”   
The silence was so uncomfortable that it would not have been more awkward if there was a literal elephant in the room. Finally, Hagrid said shakily, “Miss Elphaba was a good witch.”

Pansy, who had by then finished her mental list, frowned and countered, “Wasn’t Elphaba evil?”

Hagrid, who had tears glittering in his eyes, threatening to spill over, glared at Pansy and stubbornly repeated, “Elphaba was good, better than Miss Glinda. She stood up for all creatures, not just those who had magic, but those who did not. Now, we magical types are all that’s left, and we are pushed to the edges.”

“What about the house elves? The centaurs?” Pansy tried to be positive, but Hagrid looked at her with such a sad and angry glance that she got quiet.

“They are only part Animal. Long ago, there used to be true animals, like bulls and owls, who were wise, and could speak just like you and me. But they got to us. They got to all of us. And we are all that is left.”

With that sad declaration, Hagrid turned, called Fang, who stopped drooling on Hermione’s knee and joined his master, and stumped out of his hut.

Hermione rushed after and called, “Hagrid-“, but he had already been swallowed by the shadows of the forest.

Pansy came and stood behind Hermione. “What was he talking about? What’s going on, Granger?”

Hermione was wiping tears from her eyes, but when she turned to face the Head Girl, Pansy saw that her eyes had a steely quality not unlike McGonagall’s. “It’s so much more than this simple curse. I don’t know what it is, but I will get to the bottom of it.” 

With that, she marched off the porch, leaving Pansy standing there, wondering what exactly was going on, and if they could stop it before it was too late. Maybe, she wondered, it already was.


End file.
